From #1 New York Times bestselling author Colleen Hoover, a passionate tale of friendship, betrayal, and romance—and the enchanting music that inspires one young woman to put her life back together.
At twenty-two years old, aspiring musician Sydney Blake has a great life: She’s in college, working a steady job, in love with her wonderful boyfriend, Hunter, and rooming with her good friend, Tori. But everything changes when she discovers Hunter cheating on her with Tori—and she is left trying to decide what to do next.
Sydney becomes captivated by her mysterious neighbor, Ridge Lawson. She can’t take her eyes off him or stop listening to the daily guitar playing he does out on his balcony. She can feel the harmony and vibrations in his music. And there’s something about Sydney that Ridge can’t ignore, either: He seems to have finally found his muse. When their inevitable encounter happens, they soon find themselves needing each other in more ways than one…
From the author of the New York Times bestsellers Slammed, Point of Retreat, Hopeless, This Girl, and Losing Hope, Maybe Someday is destined to become another bestseller and long-lasting fan favorite.
Oh, Lord. What is he about to do? Put his hands on me? Does he want to feel me sing this song? Feeling requires touching, and touching requires hands. His hands. Feeling me.
Ridge: Do you trust me?
Me: I don’t trust anyone anymore. My trust has been completely depleted this week.
Ridge: Can you replenish your trust for about five minutes? I want to feel your voice.I inhale, then look at him—lying next to me—and I nod. He sets down his phone without breaking my gaze. He’s watching me as if he’s warning me to stay calm, but it’s having the exact opposite effect. I’m sort of panicked right now.
He scoots closer and slides his arm under the back of my neck.
Now he’s even closer.
Now his face is hovering over mine. He reaches across my body and pulls the guitar flush against my side, bringing it closer to us. He’s still eyeing me with a look that seems intended to produce a calming effect.
It doesn’t. It doesn’t calm me down at all.
He lowers his head to my chest, then presses his cheek against my shirt.
Oh, this is great. Now he definitely feels how spastic my heart is beating right now. I close my eyes and want to die of embarrassment, but I don’t have time for that, because he begins strumming the strings of the guitar next to me. I realize he’s playing with both hands, one from underneath my head and one over me. His head is against my chest, and I can feel his hair brush my neck. He’s pretty much sprawled across me in order to reach his guitar with both arms.
Oh, my dear sweet baby Jesus in a wicker basket.